


The way to a man's heart

by most_curiously_blue_eyes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Protective Daryl Dixon, canon divergence - they never left the prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29926839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/most_curiously_blue_eyes/pseuds/most_curiously_blue_eyes
Summary: Daryl notices Rick always gives up his meals to others. He sets about trying to feed the stubborn man, because if Rick won't take care of himself, someone else has to pick up the slack.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61
Collections: Daryl is gay/asexual so deal with it





	The way to a man's heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lurafita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurafita/gifts).



> This story is written as a series of snippets, some taking place during the winter after the farm fell, and then at the prison.
> 
> One thing: I'm running on fumes 'cause I barely sleep lately, so if anything is written in a way that doesn't make sense or there are any mistakes, please point it out politely. I'll fix everything I can.
> 
> Gifting this to Lurafita 'cause she needs some fluff. It's not what you requested, that one will be done within the next couple of days. Have this fluff instead for now!

The first time Daryl notices Rick giving his food away is about three weeks after the farm. It’s their worst day yet: they had to leave one of the cars because it ran out of fuel, they encountered too many damn biters to feel comfortable staying in any one place for too long, and like all that wasn’t enough, it rained for the entire afternoon. The plan was initially to keep going during the night, but Daryl found a completely abandoned road house, not a single walker in sight. It’s better defensible than other places they’ve seen so far, plus there’s a parking lot in the back that’s not visible from the road. There aren’t any vehicles there, which is a bummer, but on the plus side, there are a few bags of rice, flour and instant mashed potatoes in the pantry, along with some soup cans and two dozen half gallon water bottles. It looks like nobody found this place before them. 

It’s the luckiest they’ve been since the beginning of their involuntary exodus. 

The best thing is, there’s a portable burner in one of the storage rooms, and a complementary container of gas. Means they were actually able to have a hot meal without the need to gather wood and build a fire. Fires are too risky most of the time, so this is a treat. Mashed potatoes go great with rabbit and some hot beans. Even though the portions aren’t very big - they’ve got to ration what they have, there’s no guarantee they’re going to stumble upon such bounty again any time soon - the atmosphere is lighter than ever. Everyone seems to be enjoying the meal, and Daryl feels accomplished as the group’s provider.

Only, he notices Rick pushing the food around his plate, more staring at it than actually eating, and then their leader goes and passes his almost untouched meal to his son. Carl doesn’t question it, just digs in and polishes off the plate’s contents in mere minutes. Daryl frowns, but doesn’t say anything, and if Rick noticed him looking, he’s not keen on acknowledging it. 

It bothers Daryl. He doesn’t know why, but it does. He supposes it might be something like wounded pride making him take note. After all, he found the food, he caught and skinned the rabbits, and here Rick goes brushing off all that effort. It stings, when he thinks about it like that. Makes Daryl feel like what he can give to the group - what he can contribute - that it’s not enough for Rick. 

From that moment on, he redoubles his efforts both at hunting and looking for supplies, and he watches Rick during every last meal.

*

He makes sure to observe even when they’re forced to leave the relative safety of the road house after Glenn and Maggie spot a herd coming their way during a routine perimeter check. Being on the move, one would think Daryl has higher priority shit to worry about than Rick Grimes’ eating habits, but no. He watches, and he spies a pattern over the next couple of weeks.

Rick eats one meal out of every three or four. The second always goes to Lori, whose pregnancy is slowly becoming more and more apparent as the time passes; then Carl. Which means that Rick puts his family before himself, which is definitely admirable, but also kinda stupid. They’re rationing food for a goddamn reason. If Rick only eats once every three days, he’s not gonna be much use once a herd catches up to them, or they come upon another group that might not be very friendly.

*

So, in spite of an inner voice that sounds suspiciously like Merle nagging him that it’s  _ not his business, _ Daryl decides to  _ make  _ Rick eat.

He starts off with making it look all casual. 

“Hey Rick,” he says, catching up to the man as they trek through the woods. It’s Rick’s  _ feed Lori day,  _ which means he hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. Daryl thinks it’s beginning to show. Sure, most of them have been losing weight since the farm, but none as much as Rick.

He makes a show of pointing towards where the trees are thicker and the ground less muddy. “Thought I saw some tracks over there. Gonna go. Finish this for me,” he says, handing the man an apple with a single bite taken out of it. It’s only part of his ration for today, it’s too sweet and he’s not going to miss it terribly. The fact he already took a bite means there’s a very big chance Lori won’t want it; she’s still too much of a fussy princess for the way the world is nowadays. She’ll come around, eventually. Everyone always does.

He leaves to go after those non-existent tracks he claimed to have found, but not without checking how Rick reacts to the offering. He smirks, pleased with his own cunning, when he sees how the man stops frowning at the apple, shrugs his shoulders and bites into the fruit without further ado.  _ There you go,  _ Daryl thinks, heading out into the trees. He doesn’t know where that satisfaction is coming from, but he doesn’t question it.

He found a way to trick that self-sacrificing bastard into eating. That’s good enough of an explanation to him.

*

From that point on, he begins to offer Rick pieces of his own food every other day. In the beginning, he imitates that first time: before approaching Rick with an offering, he first makes sure to have an excuse for giving part of his ration away to the leader. 

“Nut allergy,” he explains as he hands Rick an entire little bag of trail mix from the vending machine Maggie massacred the previous day. He hasn’t got nut allergy, but it’s not like anyone can call him out on the lie, and Rick doesn’t question it. He pats Daryl on the arm - Daryl  _ almost  _ manages not to wince at the contact - and says a short  _ thanks,  _ and he nibbles on the peanuts and raisins and whatever other shit’s in the mix for half an hour afterwards. 

*

Another day, another excuse: “Fuckin’ tooth been killin’ me all mornin’,” Daryl complains. He made it a point to actually show discomfort to the others in the group. So far, Hershel offered to have a look at the tooth in question, but Daryl declined. Said it’d go away on its own. It would, because obviously nothing’s hurting him for real, it’s just a made-up reason to give up his helping of the fire-roasted squirrel they’re having today. Rick already gave his own to Lori, who’s been building up quite an appetite over time and has even managed to learn to appreciate the redneck delicacies she used to scoff at back in the quarry. 

“Here,” Daryl says, handing the charred piece of meat to Rick. He didn’t need to bite it to make sure the offering won’t be given away to a fussy wifey: it’s enough that he always eats with his fingers. Lori might be less picky nowadays, but she’s still far from eating something Daryl put his grubby hands all over. 

Fortunately, her husband has no such misgivings. He accepts the meat with a small grateful smile, and he gives Daryl a small bundle of mint chewing gum in return.

“Mint used to help when I had to wait for a dentist appointment,” he explains. “Mind you, it was usually toothpaste that helped, so it coulda been something else in it that helped, but at least mint tastes good?”

“Thanks, man,” Daryl says, and he pockets the bundle for later. It might be useless for imaginary tooth aches, but Daryl knows from experience there’s nothing like some chewing gum to deal with hunger pains. The brain is easy to deceive when it’s starving. Rick probably doesn’t know how handy his gift will eventually turn out to be.

*

As winter fast approaches, their eating opportunities dwindle. It’s not only Rick who eats once every couple of days. It’s all of them. Well, all but Lori, whom they’re all trying to feed whenever they have the chance. Game is scarce around these parts and they haven’t had much luck finding a decently stocked place in forever. Hell, it’s been a good couple of days since last they found any sort of shelter whatsoever, never mind a decent one. They sleep in the cars, if they are even able to sleep at all in the dropping temperatures. 

Daryl isn’t bothered by the cold as much as he is by the lack of food. Not for himself; he’d had to survive longer than this on nothing when he was younger than Carl is now. Hunger isn’t ideal, but it’s not new to him and he knows how to deal with it. He just wishes he could somehow help others.

Maybe he can, at least a little bit.

“Gimme yer knife,” he says to Rick when the two of them go out hunting together. It’s a futile attempt and they both know it. There’s nothing to hunt here, or Daryl would’ve found it already. The hunt is just an excuse to stay away from the others. 

From Lori, in Rick’s case. Their marriage doesn’t seem to be doing any better now than it did before Shane’s unfortunate yet necessary demise.

Rick passes him the knife with nothing more than an inquiring look, and Daryl points to a young pine tree. “When I’s a kid, we ain’t got no fancy shit like chewin’ gum, but we had this,” he explains, and makes a cut in the bark of the tree. He watches as the sap begins to collect around the cut, and he collects it with his fingers. He then lifts the fingers to Rick’s face.

“Here,” he says. “‘s kinda bitter, but better than nothin’. Don’t swallow.”

Frowning, Rick opens his mouth and uses his teeth to gather some of the sap from Daryl’s fingers. He immediately makes a grimace, but he doesn’t spit it out. 

“Ugh, it’s disgusting,” he grits out, and yet he begins to chew.

“Yeah, I know,” Daryl says. He collects some more sap, forms a little ball from it, and pops it in his mouth. He makes a face, and Rick chuckles at him. “Oh, shut up. Y’aint bein’ any prettier, scrunchin’ yer nose like a lil’ mouse.”

Rick laughs at the comparison, and Daryl’s mood lifts a little. They’re still gonna go hungry, but if Rick can actually laugh at something Daryl said despite everything, it’s good enough for him.

*

When he finds the cans of soup hidden in a hollowed out tree, Daryl’s first instinct is not to tell the others about them. He doesn’t want to keep them for himself, obviously; he’s gotten so used to eating shit like earthworms, tree bark and the occasional piece of possum meat, he doesn’t even remember what it’s like to eat normal. It’s fine; his stomach lining is made of fucking steel by now. So he’s not considering hiding his discovery for his own sake, but for Rick’s. He fantasizes about having the small supply of soup he’d be able to offer Rick whenever the man gives up his own meager rations to his son or wife. Feeding Rick when Rick utterly fails at feeding himself has become a sort of life goal for Daryl over the course of this winter. He’s pretty sure the leader caught on to what he’s doing, but so far, Rick hasn’t tried to talk him out of it. If anything, he’s only been giving Daryl grateful looks and those familiar pats on the shoulder which Daryl’s already learned not to flinch away from.

He brings the seven cans to the group in the end because it’s the right thing to do. They depend on him, and he can’t disappoint them for selfish reasons. That night, the group feasts on thick bean soup. 

The best thing about it is when Rick eats his share without a single protest. 

“You’ve outdone yourself this time,” he tells Daryl later when the others are huddled together in front of the feeble bonfire they dared to build in the clearing. While fire isn’t always safe, they haven’t seen a single walker in a week, so Rick allowed it this time. They had their dinner hot for the first time in… well, what seems like forever. It’s improved everyone’s moods.

“Stroke of luck,” Daryl replies with a shrug. He doesn’t tell Rick how he wanted to keep all those cans just for him. He doesn’t think it’s something the man would appreciate, the self-sacrificing bastard that he is. Better if he doesn’t know.

*

Their luck turns after they find the prison, and Rick eats his meals almost regularly without the need for Daryl’s little tricks. It makes Daryl feel weird. Useless, even though he’s still doing all this stuff for the group at the prison. He pins the strange feelings on the force of habit he developed on the road, and then makes himself forget it.

There are more urgent matters to take care of.

*

Lori’s death shakes them all to the core, but none as much as Rick. He stops talking to anyone. Stops eating, too, and now Daryl’s faced with a reality where there are two people who can’t feed themselves. Lil’ Ass-kicker takes precedence, as much as Daryl hates to leave Rick to his own devices, and when he’s on the run to find formula for the baby, he comes upon a vending machine nobody looted before.

Among other things, it has Twinkies.

_ “God, I hated them as a kid,” Rick told him once when they were doing their usual ritual of pretending-to-hunt even though both of them knew very well there was no game to catch.  _

_ “They tasted like too much sugar and something chemical,” Rick explained, and he sighed wistfully. “Isn’t it weird that I’d kill to have one of them now?” _

Staring at the vending machine, Daryl remembers that conversation, and he breaks the glass to load up the entire stock. Especially the Twinkies. 

He forgets about them for a while when he returns and gets to feed the lil’ girl - God, but she’s so tiny, so squishy and defenseless as he holds her in his arms and watches her suck on the nip on the bottle like she’s starving. Maybe she is, but Daryl swears to her then and there, it’s the last time she’s ever felt such hunger. He’ll take care of her.

And he’ll take care of her daddy.

He finds Rick in the tombs later. The others told him to leave their leader alone, mostly out of concern that an unstable Rick could hurt him, but Daryl thinks that’s bullshit advice. You don’t just let a guy going mad with grief do whatever he pleases. Not when he’s got kids who need him, and an entire group of people - a family - to take care of. As he’s apparently the only Goddamn reasonable person in this group, Daryl decides to take care of him first, so Rick can go back to being their leader. 

He finds Rick, and he gives him Twinkies.

“What?...” Rick asks, staring at him like Daryl’s the one losing his mind, not him. His eyes are puffy and red-rimmed. Whatever he’s been doing here, crying must’ve been a huge part of it.

“Ya said ya’d kill for one ‘a these,” Daryl reminds him, shrugging. “Thought I’d spare ya the trouble. Dig in, man.”

It speaks volumes about Rick’s state of mind that he doesn’t think to argue. Instead, the man pockets his knife - he’d been swinging that at invisible walkers when Daryl first came upon him - and he begins to unwrap the snack cake from its tin foil wrapper. Daryl watches him, and when Rick looks up from the sweet in his hand to Daryl, the hunter nods encouragingly. 

“Come on, man. ‘s gonna make ya feel better,” he promises.

Rick frowns, like he’s not sure if he wants to feel better, but then he takes a first bite of the spongy cake. He closes his eyes and makes a soft humming sound as he chews. 

Daryl almost smiles.

“Good?” He asks. 

Rick actually smiles back as he opens his eyes. It’s weak, hesitant, like he’s not sure he’s still allowed to smile after what happened to Lori.

“Terrible,” he replies in a conspiratorial tone. “Tastes like sugar with vanilla and more sugar. God, it’s amazing.”

“Yer a weirdo, Grimes,” Daryl informs him, but it comes out more fond than mocking.

Rick nods, and even though it’s more solemn than happy, Daryl will take it for a good omen.

*

After taking down the Governor and establishing a truce with the Woodbury people, the group slowly creates a sort of comfortable day-to-day routine at the prison. Rick steps down from his leadership role and becomes a farmer-gardener kinda thing, and Daryl realizes with a start that he doesn’t mind. Sure, it leaves the group down a capable fighter since Rick refuses to carry his gun. But seeing the man inside the fences all the time, doing all the hard but peaceful work in his new garden, has a strangely calming effect. 

Daryl isn’t the sort of man to lie to himself, so he doesn’t. He admits it: he’s happy to have Rick stay in the prison yard, doing his thing, because it’s safer than out there. And he wants to keep Rick safe. Sure, ideally, he wants everyone to be safe, that’s his goal he’s working towards; still he’d probably throw a fit if Glenn and Maggie, or Michonne and Andrea decided to stay inside and play home. Hell, he’s even starting to take Carol out there with him, regardless of her protests that she’d be more useful in the library.

“Ya wanna make it a real library, go out on runs and bring in some real books,” he said, and Carol agreed that the choices the prison library had were… limited.

But when Rick decided to give up his gun and take up the mantle of a farmer, all Daryl felt was relief.

There’s a simple explanation, and Daryl doesn’t think denial makes any sense in the world they live in, where every day could be his last. So he owns up to it:

Rick is special, and he’s special because Daryl is in love with him.

It’s easier to live with the realization than he would’ve expected, considering. He’s never been particularly homophobic, not like his daddy or his pain in the ass of a brother, though he didn’t think about himself as a homo. Well, it seems like he is. It’s alright, ‘cause nobody has to know. It’s not like Rick would return his feelings if he found out about them, and so, what’s the point in telling anyone? 

He doesn’t even need Rick to love him back this way. They’re family. It’s enough.

Still, he can’t help but try extra hard for Rick. Old habits die hard, and it’s basically habit at this point to always bring a special treat for the man from a supply run or even from a hunt. So Daryl does, all the time. He finds a bunch of blackberries near the place he saw deer tracks last week, and saves them for Rick. There’s an unopened bag of potato chips in a house he’s ransacking with Glenn and Maggie, so he grabs it before anyone else can see it and offers it to Rick that evening as they chat before his watchtower shift. A vending machine on an abandoned gas station turns out to have some soda cans left; remembering that Rick likes grape Fanta the most, Daryl spends an unreasonable amount of time getting one from the machine without causing too much noise and drawing the attention of the herd in the nearby parking lot. Rick’s disbelieving expression shifting into the most honest, affectionate smile is worth the trouble. As always.

*

And then, Daryl finds the peach orchard.

It’s early May, almost harvest season, but the winter was unusually cold, so most of the peaches on the trees aren’t ripe yet. Daryl manages to find two or three that are almost there, though, and he decides it’s good enough. He’s too excited about his discovery to go back empty-handed. Not when it’s peaches, of all things. Rick’s favorite fruit.

“My parents had a farm, but all I cared about were the peach trees. I’d wait for summer every year, and I’d eat peaches for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the first three weeks. I was a little crazy about them,” Rick said one night during that first winter when the group was still on the road. They were talking about childhood flavors. Daryl mostly just listened; as a kid, he had no preferences when it came to food. He ate everything he could get his hands on. But he listened, especially when Rick was talking, and he made a mental note for later to bring the man some peaches, canned or otherwise, as soon as he found some.

And now he’s found some. 

As soon as he returns to the prison, he hands his bags over to Carol and goes searching for Rick. The man is surprisingly  _ not  _ in his garden, hasn’t been since after dinner, but nobody seems to know where exactly he is. Daryl checks the common areas to no avail; Rick’s not in the library nor at the showers. Obviously, he’s not in the kitchen where he’s not allowed, not after the stirfry incident two weeks ago. Lil’ Ass-Kicker’s with Beth, but with no daddy Rick in sight. Carl is reading comic books with the Woodbury kid, Patrick. Still no Rick. Rick’s cell is empty, but his gun is in its nice box under the bed, which means the man can’t have gone to the tombs either. He wouldn’t, not without a weapon. 

That leaves… Well, Daryl has no idea. Slightly disappointed - okay,  _ majorly  _ disappointed - he heads back to his own cell, the one he claimed when the winter chill last December chased him off from his normal dwelling on the roof. He’s been thinking about moving back out there, now that the rainy season is well and truly over, and the nights are nice and warm again. He might actually get to it immediately. Why not? It’s not like he has a lot of stuff to move up there.

Only, when he steps inside his cell and lets the privacy curtain fall back into place behind him, he finds Rick, apparently fast asleep on his bed. 

His heart skips a beat at the sight, his chest clenches painfully, and Daryl wonders for a second if this is what a panic attack feels like. But he’s not panicking; slowly, he realizes what he’s experiencing is  _ longing.  _ He  _ longs  _ to touch this man burrowed in his comfy nest of blankets. He  _ longs _ to ruffle Rick’s hair in a completely innocent display of affection, to wake him up with a kiss that would be decidedly less innocent. He  _ longs _ to go to bed with Rick every night and wake up next to him every morning for the rest of their lives.

_ Ain’t what he wants, though,  _ he tells himself firmly, shaking his head, and moves towards the bed and shakes the man gently, his hand lingering on Rick’s shoulder maybe a little too long.

“Five more minutes,” Rick mumbles sleepily, trying to bury himself even deeper into the blankets. He sounds tired and for a moment Daryl considers letting him sleep a while longer. It couldn’t hurt, could it? But if Rick sleeps for too long in the day, he won’t be getting any rest at night, and he’s an early riser now, a farmer, up with the first light of dawn.

So Daryl takes his arm and shakes him again.

“Rick,” he says, “get up, man.”

“Mmmkay, darlin’,” Rick replies, still mostly asleep, and he clicks his tongue, smacks his lips, and sighs. Then his brain seems to register what he just said; his eyebrows knit together briefly before he opens his eyes, blinks once, twice, and sits up.

“Oh, hey, Daryl,” he says pleasantly. “You need something?”

Daryl looks at him. “Yer in my cell,” he points out.

Rick blinks again, a confused expression taking over his face as he looks around for confirmation. He finds it, obviously. Daryl’s cell is probably the easiest to recognize because it’s mostly empty save for an assortment of electronic devices he’s been fixing to operate on batteries, a box of clothes, a spare pair of boots, and of course the blankets on his bed. Having taken it all in, Rick hums thoughtfully, frowning like he’s attempting to solve the world’s greatest puzzle.

“What am I doing in your cell?” He asks finally, tilting his head as he looks up at Daryl.

“Hell if I know,” Daryl replies helpfully. He pauses, then, “Takin’ a nap, I’d guess,” he suggests. 

“Must be it,” Rick agrees, nodding. 

“Dunno why you’ve come here ‘stead of your own cell, though.”

It’s not that Daryl minds or begrudges Rick the comfort of his blanket nest. Just, this emotion stirring in his chest is making him anxious; he’s worried he might do something he’s gonna regret later, something like run his hand through Rick’s hair to fix that one curly lock that refuses to stay slicked back. Like - touch Rick’s stubbly jaw, to check how different the texture is from his own patchy beard that refuses to properly grow. 

Like kiss him, maybe, on the forehead, affectionate like a parent, or on the nose, playful like a friend… or on the lips, intimate like a lover.

He does nothing like that, all too aware of the repercussions it could have. Instead, he pulls out the two almost-ripe peaches from the pocket of his cargo pants. He holds them out to Rick as an offering.

“For you,” he announces as if clarification was needed.

Immediately, all traces of confusion and sleepiness leave Rick’s eyes as they widen in shock and excitement. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting a gift.

“Peaches!” He says, and takes the offered fruits. “Daryl, whoa, this is amazing. Where’d you even find fresh peaches?”

“There’s an orchard,” Daryl mutters, looking down at his feet. He doesn’t take praise well. He knows. He’s been working on it and nowadays he somehow manages not to flee the moment someone says anything nice to him. Doesn’t mean it’s any easier. 

“Oh, I missed peaches,” Rick says with a giant smile. “It’s my-”

“Favorite fruit,” Daryl interrupts him. “You said.”

Rick chuckles at that. “Your memory astounds me every day,” he says. He rubs one of the peaches against the denim on his thigh, more by force of habit than to clean the surface of any dirt - Daryl knows better than to give him anything dirty and Rick trusts him, thanks very much - and then bites into the fruit.

“Mmmmm,” he hums, and he definitely sounds pleased. Maybe a bit too pleased.

“Should I leave you guys alone?” Daryl asks, trying to cover his discomfort with a joke. 

He’s not uncomfortable because of the sounds Rick’s making. He’s uncomfortable because of the effect these sounds are having on him. Luckily the pants he’s wearing are loose in the crotch area. 

Rick slurps on the flesh of the fruit to suck in all the juice before he pulls it away from his mouth. He chews slowly, clearly enjoying the taste even though the peach must be at least a little sour still; then he swallows, licks his lips, and smiles at Daryl.

“Have I mentioned I  _ love  _ peaches?” He asks warmly.

“Kinda noticed,” Daryl observes drily. “Gonna take a group out early next week, we’ll swing by the orchard. Should be more of ‘em ripe by then, we can bring ‘em back here. You can plant some in yer garden too, right?”

“I’ll have to ask Hershel,” Rick says thoughtfully. “Maybe it’d be easier to cut a sapling than to grow the whole tree from a stone. Think I could go with?”

“Sure,” Daryl replies without hesitation. 

Rick offers him a grateful little smile that makes Daryl feel warm, then he bites into the peach again and lets out a drawn-out, pleased moan that makes Daryl feel even warmer. 

“Cut it out, man, it ain’t  _ that  _ good,” Daryl mutters, rolling his eyes. “Ain’t even fully ripe.”

“It’s  _ perfect, _ ” Rick corrects him, mouth full of fruit. He holds out the peach to Daryl. “Here. Try it. Have a taste. You’ll see.”

Daryl opens his mouth to protest, but Rick uses that to push the fruit against his parted lips, and Daryl has no choice but to bite into the flesh of the peach unless he wants to look stupid. He tears a small piece of the fruit, flesh, juice and a bit of the fuzzy skin, then takes a step back to chew. Rick’s right; even though the peach is not completely ripe, it’s damn near perfect anyway. It’s sweet, clearly it’s gotten enough sun and nutrients from the earth or whatever; there’s an underlying hint of sourness typical of underripe fruit, but it only adds to the overall sense of freshness. If early summer had a taste, Daryl supposes it would taste like this peach. 

Rick is looking at him expectantly, so Daryl swallows, licks his lips, and says:

“‘s good.”

“I knew it,” Rick says triumphantly. He gets up, walks a step closer to Daryl, covering the distance Daryl created when he stepped back a minute ago. 

“I remember why I came here,” he says softly.

Suddenly nervous, Daryl narrowly resists the urge to bring his hand up to chew on his thumbnail. He risks a quick look in Rick’s eyes, noting, not for the first time, how pretty they are, blue just like the early summer sky. Then his gaze slides down to the younger man’s lips, and he licks his own, and he realizes if Rick comes any closer, he’s gonna  _ feel  _ how much Daryl is enjoying this unexpected closeness, and it’s not gonna be pretty.

He doesn’t get a chance to back away, though, because in the precise moment he makes the decision, Rick leans in and presses his lips to Daryl’s in a brief but firm kiss. It’s mostly chaste, closed mouthed, but to Daryl it still feels like the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He can’t fight himself anymore; he wraps his arms around Ricks waist, closes his eyes and kisses back the best he can. Rick makes a little sound against his lips and one of his hands slides into Daryl’s hair, cradling the back of his head as Rick deepens the kiss, first licking at the seam of Daryl’s lips, then, when they part, pushing his tongue past them to get his first real taste of Daryl’s mouth. Rick’s own taste mixed with the sweetness of the peach invades Daryl’s taste buds and he groans, tightening his arms around the man. 

He never dared to imagine what it’d be like kissing Rick, but he doesn’t believe any fantasy could’ve lived up to the real deal. The tightness in his chest is gone, replaced by a warmth that spreads throughout his whole body, different from the thrum of desire located in his abdomen; he still feels that, too, but it pales in comparison with the sense of fulfilment he gets from the kiss itself. It’s like he’s falling from an unimaginable height, but there’s no fear because he knows the fall will never end. There is no rocky bottom to smash into, no risk of ending up broken and bruised, because it’s Rick, and Rick’s lips on his, and they’re kissing.

And then they are not, but before Daryl can protest, Rick pushes the half-eaten peach against his lips.

“Take a bite,” he demands, and Daryl obeys. He always obeys when Rick gives a command. It’s the way of things.

He bites into the peach and looks at Rick, feeling strangely satisfied when the man nods, clearly pleased.

“I came looking for you earlier ‘cause I wanted to thank you,” Rick says, one hand still at the nape of Daryl’s neck, tangled in his hair. Holding him hostage, almost, only Daryl doesn’t want to run away. 

He doesn’t reply, mouth full of the fleshy fruit Rick’s feeding him.

“I only realized recently that I’d probably be dead if not for you,” the younger man observes, chuckling when Daryl looks at him sharply. “No, really,” he insists. Daryl tries to protest, but Rick just pushes the peach against his lips again, forcing him to stay quiet.

When Daryl gives up and bites into the fruit again, signifying his compliance, Rick goes on:

“I’ve had a complicated relationship with food all my life, you know. Nothing like an actual disorder, but I’d forget to eat for long periods of time sometimes, especially when I had a lot on my head. Shane used to,” he pauses, sighs. “Shane used to buy me breakfast or lunch every time we went on patrol because he knew I wouldn’t. I could afford it, it was not about money, I just genuinely don’t feel hungry. Maybe there’s something in my brain that’s wired wrong, I don’t know. My parents took me to a doctor about it when I was maybe fifteen, but they didn’t find anything, and when I do eat, I absorb the nutrients normally, so the doctor wasn’t too concerned. He said it’d pass once I stopped growing. Said it was hormonal. It didn’t stop, though. I still don’t get hungry.

“During that winter, food was scarce, and I was constantly worried if we’d be able to find shelter for the night, and I was fighting with my wife all the damn time… I was starving myself, and most of the time, I didn’t even realize. I noticed my clothes stopped fitting, but at first I figured they stretched out from constant wear, and then I kinda disregarded it ‘cause we were all getting thinner. And nobody said anything, so I thought I was fine.”

He smiles fondly, as if to a memory.

“And then you gave me an apple.”

“Saw ya weren’t eatin’,” Daryl murmurs. He looks at Rick’s hand, where only the pit is left from the peach. He wants to lick the man’s fingers, but he doesn’t.

“Yeah, you did,” Rick agrees softly. “You were the only one who saw, or maybe the only one who cared enough to do something about it. And you were actually sneaky about it, weren’t you? Took me this long to piece it all together. You fed me when I needed it, and you have kept feeding me even when we had plenty of food and I didn’t skip meals anymore.”

“You like it,” Daryl says simply. “Snacks, lil’ things. I bring ya a piece of candy, you light up like it’s Christmas come early. So you must be enjoyin’ the food, yeah? Even if ya don’t get hungry.”

“I enjoy it because you’re the one bringing it to me,” Rick says. 

Daryl blinks, startled at the confession. “Nah,” he dismisses. “Can’t be right.”

“Is, though,” Rick insists. “I thought about it a lot, Daryl. I have a lot of time to think when I work in the garden. I thought about how I didn’t like it when Lori cooked for me or bought me food, even when we were still good. Or when Carl tried to give me some of the chocolate Glenn found in that one house, I didn’t take any. Didn’t want to. But you gave me an apple, and you just went about your business as usual, and I remember I thought, yeah, I probably should eat it. And I did, and the thing is, I didn’t understand why. For the longest time, I didn’t get it. Why you’d go out of your way to feed me. Why I would accept food from you.”

“Tell me,” Daryl demands. He knows what Rick means, they kissed already, they’re still wrapped around each other like they can’t bear to be apart just yet - but he needs to hear it. He needs to - and Rick understands.

“I love you,” he says, plain and honest, more open than either of the two of them is used to being with another person. “I took the apple from you because I was already falling in love with you.”

“Rick,” Daryl whispers, and then they are kissing again, and it’s like a different way to communicate.

*

It takes four years before their own orchard bears fruit. Daryl doesn’t need to feed Rick anymore, not for a long time, but he likes to, so he does. The two of them share the first peach, still a bit sour, and it tastes fresh, just like being in love.

**Author's Note:**

> most--curiously--blue--eyes is my tumblr, but y'all already know that ;)


End file.
